Part 18

"Nonsense! I am not to be scared by Methodistical cant," said Miss Priscilla, though she trembled visibly. "But if you are absolutely determined to put yourself into the hands of these people, who will turn you out helpless on the world just as soon as they have stripped you of everything, do so. I wash my hands of you. And when you are stripped and turned out, or kept to clean floors and black shoes for that proud fool of a woman, don't come back to me. I wash my hands of you. It was a bad day for me when I first took you out of the poor-house. Don't come back to me. I don't like snakes!"

A part of this amiable speech was intended for the ears of Mrs. Fabian, whose presence in the next room Miss Priscilla suspected, though she did not see her. But Mrs. Fabian, calmly superior, worked on at her lace collar, and smiled. She knew the strength that lay in silence.

"Shall I get you the cloak, aunt?"

"Yes; I don't choose that my dead father's clothes should be in such hands. And do not call me 'aunt,' if you please. I acknowledge no relationship to you any more."

Miss Priscilla departed, and crossed the road to Mr. Settson's office, from which she was seen to issue after a somewhat lengthened conference, followed by Mr. Settson with a large tin box, which he placed carefully in the chaise. Rejecting the gentleman's assistance, Miss Priscilla unfastened Jeff, the pony, and drove out of Cohansey town, never to enter its streets again.

Calista retired to her room and, girl-like, indulged in a hearty fit of crying. She could not return with Aunt Priscilla, and yet the thought of her aunt living alone, without even the solace of her evening cribbage and backgammon, was dreadful to her. But there was no use crying about it to annoy Mrs. Fabian, and nothing she could do about it—and then she remembered she could pray about it. She could not influence or comfort or protect Aunt Priscilla, but there was One who could do all these things, and to that One Calista betook herself with simple and child-like faith.

The next day but one, as Calista set out for school, she saw Chloe and David talking to Mr. Settson at his office gate. He beckoned her across the street.

"Here is a new state of things," said he. "Chloe tells me that your aunt has turned her and David away, almost at a moment's warning. Worse than that, she has taken that woman Jael and her husband into the house to live."

"Oh, Mr. Settson, can nothing be done?" exclaimed Calista, much distressed. "Think of her alone with those dreadful creatures! She will be ill-treated, if not robbed and murdered. Can nothing be done to save her from them? Surely, she must be crazy!"

"I must turn the matter over and see what can be done," said Mr. Settson; "but I don't know where to get hold of the case. Miss Stanfield has an undoubted right to take whom she pleases into her own house, and, so long as she displays such acuteness in money matters, we can hardly call her insane. But do not be distressed, my dear; we will try to keep watch of their doings. At any rate, it is not your fault."

"How did she manage it?" asked Calista of Chloe.

"Well, she came home in a great tantrum, ready to turn the house out of window; then she calls me in and wants to know how you got out. And says I,—

"'Why, Miss Priscy, you told me yourself she went away in the carriage with Mr. Fabian.'

"Then she wanted to know if any of your things was left behind in the house, and I said, not that I knew of. For, you see, just as soon as she was gone, David and me, we moved your trunks to a safe place, thinking to send them to you. Then she didn't say any more, only went up and rummaged over your room. That night old Jael came and stayed all the evening, and the next morning came again. And then Miss Priscy told David and me we could go—she didn't want any more of us, and paid us up. And we bundled up our things and borrowed Cash's old wagon and came away. And we's got your things along with ours, and I suppose we've got to look-out for some place to be in and something to do."

"I wouldn't have cared," said David, who was a man of few words, "only for the dumb beasts—Jeff and the farm horses, and the cows." And David turned away and wiped a suspicious drop from his eyelids.

"Miss McPherson wants a cook and a coachman, I know," said Calista; "how would that suit you?"

"First-rate," said Chloe, speaking for both, as usual; "wouldn't it, old man?"

"Suit me," said David. "I ain't afraid to groom horses, nor drive horses, with any man in Cumberland County. But I don't know as you could cook good enough for the young ladies."

"Oh, you go 'long! He will have his joke, you see, David will," said Chloe, apologizing for her partner's light-mindedness. "Well, maybe you might speak to the lady, Miss Calista. We'll leave your trunks to Mrs. Fabian's, and then I guess we'll go to Jubalina's."

"That is just what I have been expecting," said Calista, as she walked along to school with Mary. "If such things were, I should think Jael had bewitched her, as Chloe says. To think of her taking those people into the house to live with her!"

"Perhaps if you had staid she would not have done it," said Mary, who had been planning for Calista a grand self-sacrifice, and did not like to have her romance destroyed.

"I don't think it would have made any difference," said Calista. "One thing she wanted me for was that she might use me in her treasure-seeking scheme. And do you know she showed me a guinea which Jael professed to have found, and it was one of the very pieces which I found when I looked over grandfather's desk. I knew it, because they were all marked."

"How could she come by it?"

"I suppose aunt paid it to them—she has given them ever so much money already—and Jael gave it back, trusting to aunt's blindness not to recognize it. Oh dear! I wish this will business was finished; then we could soon clear out the poor old house."

"I should hardly think you would wish to turn your poor aunt out of the house where she has lived so long, even if you don't want to live with her," said Mary, reproachfully.

Calista faced round upon her rather sharply.

"Who said I did? Or why should you suppose that one invariably means to do the very worst thing possible under the circumstances? Would you like to have any one do so by you? You said only yesterday that it was a great cross to have your mother's aunt come into the family and take up the best room, though she seems to be a very nice, kind old lady."

"She smokes," said Mary.

"Well, do you think it would be very much better if, instead of smoking, she addressed some insulting or sarcastic remark to you, or now and then threw a book at you for variety?"

"But I have taken up my cross," said Mary, somewhat taken aback.

"Would you if you could help it?" asked Calista. "Wouldn't you be glad this minute if the old lady were sent somewhere else?"

Mary did not answer.

"That is not my idea of taking up the cross," Calista continued. "And any way, Mary, it is my duty to obey those whom Providence has set over me, as your father says. I won't deny that I enjoy the change. It is something not to go to bed hungry, and to have a comfortable bed to sleep in."

"Surely you did not go hungry?"

"Indeed I did, half the time; and I had not bed-clothes enough for decent neatness, not to say warmth. I wonder how that would suit you, who must have at least three or four clean towels every week. Only for Miss Druett, I should have had nothing but woollen sheets all winter. More than that, I never had a cent of pocket-money for any use till Miss Druett took charge of me. But I don't mean that my present life shall make me self-indulgent. I have been trying to lay down some rules for myself, like Mrs. Fletcher. Oh, Mary, I wish you would read that book!"

"I should like to see it," said Mary, beginning to feel a little ashamed.

"I will lend it to you. Then no one could live with Mrs. Fabian without being the better for it," continued Calista. "She is so good and gentle, and does so much in such a quiet way. Just think! She sends poor Mrs. Rolfe a dinner fit for a sick person every day, and always sees to it herself."

"I am glad you told me," said Mary, feeling still more ashamed of her harsh judgment. "I wonder if I could not do something for her."

"She wants old linen very much. I have just been making some handkerchiefs for her, out of a fine old linen night-dress of mother's."

"I don't see how you could do that; I should think everything of your mother's would be sacred," said Mary.

"I thought mother would like it if she were here," said Calista, simply; "and I wanted to give something of my own."

Here the conversation ended.

But as Mary sat down to her desk, she said to herself, "I am envious and jealous, and that is the whole of it. Calista's money has spoiled me more than it has her." And the snake, being called by his right name, dived into his den to be seen no more that day.

CHAPTER TWENTIETH.

AN EXPLOSION.

THE weeks went on very quietly with Calista for a time—so quietly and pleasantly that she sometimes wondered whether either her present or her former life were not a dream. She worked as hard in school as if she still had no other prospect than that of becoming a teacher, and found great delight in her drawing; for which she showed a special talent. At home she took the place of a daughter. She helped in the housekeeping, and learned to make cakes, and preserves, and pickles in endless variety. She read aloud to Mrs. Fabian, and saw, in a quiet way, a good deal of company, and listened to a great deal of clever conversation.

She would have been perfectly happy only for that thought which was always in the background—poor Aunt Priscilla. She could hear very little about her. Mr. Davis, who managed the farm, reported that he rarely saw her. He thought she was shut in her room a good deal. Jael had a younger woman with her,—her daughter, he thought,—and he feared Miss Priscilla did not fare very well.

At last, one crisp, delightful morning in late October, Calista came in from an early run in the garden with her hands full of the hardy flowers which that mild climate often spares till Christmas. As she came into the entry, she found old Cassius talking with Mr. Fabian, and both wearing such anxious, perturbed faces that she started and dropped her basket.

"Oh, I am sure something has happened to aunt!" said she. "Do tell me! What is it?"

"Don't alarm yourself, my dear," said Mr. Fabian. "I think the time has come for interfering in your poor aunt's behalf. Tell Miss Calista your story, Cassius, but first come in out of the draught."

"Tom Edgar and me was a-coming home from sitting up with old Mr. Heminway," Cassius began, without any of his usual prefaces; "it was about five, and not very light, when we see old Zeke and Jael come out of Miss Stanfield's house, all loaded down with bundles. They hid 'em away in the Red Hollow, and started back for more, I suppose. Tom says, says he,—

"'Uncle Cash, they're robbing the house. I wonder if they've killed the old lady?'

"Says I, 'Tom, you keep watch here, and I'll run home and get my horse and ride into town as fast as I can go.'

"You see, I thought Tom was the strongest, if it came to a tussle, and I knew the old mare would go faster with me than with any one."

"Oh, Mr. Fabian, do let us go out there at once!" said Calista, in an agony of impatience. "Oh, won't you do something?"

"We will do everything. Don't distress yourself, my dear. We must get some force together, and proper authority, and then we will set out directly," said Mr. Fabian.

"But you will take me with you?" said Calista.

"No, my dear, not till we find out what state things are in. I promise you, you shall go the moment there is anything to do. Now, be a good girl and try to keep composed."

"I will," said Calista; "only do send for me as soon as you can."

Mr. Fabian was not the man to let grass grow under his feet, but it seemed an age of agonized suspense before Tom Edgar arrived on his splendid black horse, about the last relic of his prosperous days.

"We've caught them—caught them in the very act!" said he, as soon as he could speak. "I believe they would have got off, but the old woman, in her hurry, tried to cross the middle of the hollow, and got bogged. I had hard work to save her, I can tell you. I thought I should go in myself. They had cleaned out the house pretty well, but we have got some of the things, and I guess we shall find the rest."

"But my aunt!" exclaimed Calista. "Never mind the things."

"Well, I'm afraid the old lady is in a pretty bad way," said Tom, gravely. "Mr. Fabian says you are to come out in the little carriage directly, and bring Aunt Betsy and the doctor; and here's a note for madam. I spoke to the old lady coming along, and she will be all ready, and the doctor is half way there by this time. Here's the note."

"Mr. Fabian says:

"'I wish you to come at once, and bring some clean linen and clothes for the poor thing, who is in a pitiful condition, and quite unconscious. Let Calista come with you. It is possible her voice may rouse Miss Stanfield. Only for Cassius and Tom we should never have succeeded.'"

"You must have some refreshment, Mr. Edgar," said Mrs. Fabian, always considerate. "Will you take some breakfast? Miranda, give Mr. Edgar some breakfast. Put on your bonnet, Calista. I will quickly get together what is needed."

With such a perfect housekeeper as Mrs. Fabian, it was the work of a few minutes to collect a basket of clean linen, tea, and sugar, and whatever a sick person would be likely to need. They called for Aunt Betsy, but she had already "caught a ride" with Dr. Elsmore, and when they arrived at the Stanfield mansion, she met them at the door.

"I'm glad you've come. Did thee bring some clean linen, Maria Fabian? Yes, I see: trust thee to think of everything. Doctor says she has been drugged with something, though he doesn't know what, and that washing her and changing her clothes will be as likely to rouse her as anything. Calista, thee 'd better stay down here till we get her fixed a little."

"No, no, let her come up," said the doctor. "Miss Stanfield may notice her niece's voice."

"Oh yes, do," said Calista.

And in a moment she had run up the well-remembered stairs, and was bending over her aunt, kissing her and speaking words of love and tenderness into her ear. But there was no voice, nor any that answered.

Priscilla lay on her bed, her eyes half open and dull as a dead person's. Her night-dress and bed-clothes looked as if they had not been changed for weeks. Some dry remnants of bread and a tumbler of sour milk stood near her on a little table. She was terribly emaciated, and was hardly to be recognized by those who had seen her a few weeks before.

"She looks starved," whispered Calista.

"I fear she is starved, and worse," answered the doctor, gravely. "But, now, if you know of a room near by which can be comfortably fitted up, you may set about it, while Miss Betsy and Aunt Sally get her washed and her clothes changed."

"We had better take Miss Druett's room, I think," said Calista, to Mrs. Fabian, as they stood in the entry. "The bed is tolerably good, and it is the only one, except mine, which has been used since I came to the house."

"And where was yours?"

"Up in the attic," answered Calista. "This is Miss Druett's room," she continued, opening the door as she spoke. "It does not seem to have been disturbed. Here are all the seals just as Mr. Fabian put them on. I wonder they did not break open the drawers."

"Very likely some superstition restrained them," said Mrs. Fabian. "It was a sad day for your poor aunt when Miss Druett died."

"Yes, she was the only person who had any influence with her. Shall I open all the windows? It seems very close."

"Do, my dear, and see if you can procure some wood and the means of making a fire. Nothing freshens up the air of a room like an open fire."

When Calista came back with her basket of wood and chips, and looked in the cupboard for a tinder-box (there were no lucifers or parlor matches in those days), Mrs. Fabian attacked the bed as energetically as any housemaid.

By the time the poor invalid had been washed and dressed, the room had assumed a neat and habitable aspect. Sally carried her in her arms as if she had been an infant, and laid her in bed.

"Is she dead?" asked Calista, in a tearful whisper.

"Oh no, honey; she's better. She opened her eyes, and swallowed some water. Now I'll just run down and make a little wine-whey—that's soon made and very strengthening—and if she takes that, we'll try her with some broth. But we must be very careful, for I don't believe she has had any food for two or three days. I suppose there is wine in the house?"

"There ought to be plenty in the cellar, but I have no notion where the keys are or what may be left," replied Calista. "For aught I know, these wretches may have drunk it all."

"Oh, I've got the keys. She had them hid in the bed, as if that would do any good."

And Sally departed, leaving Mrs. Fabian and Calista with the invalid.

Presently Aunt Sally came back with her whey, and with great care proceeded to feed Miss Priscilla, who swallowed two or three spoonsful apparently without the least consciousness of what she was doing.

"That's well," said Sally. "When folks can swallow, there's always hopes of them. Now, I must go home for a little, but I'll come back and stay to-night. Do you mean to stay, Miss Calista?"

"Oh yes. Please do let me, Mrs. Fabian," said Calista, anticipating Mrs. Fabian's cautious—"Really, I don't know." "You know she might come to herself any time and know me. Oh, it would be worth so much if she would. After all, she was my father's sister, and she did give me a home. I am afraid I have been very ungrateful."

"Some folks is thankful for small favors, ain't they?" said Sally, aside, to Mrs. Fabian. "I wouldn't treat a stray cat as Miss Priscy used to treat that poor child. But there is something in what she says," she added, aloud. "Miss Priscy might come to and know her, and perhaps say something she ought to hear."

"I will ask Mr. Fabian," said the lady, perplexed between her feeling for Miss Priscy and her care for Calista. "He will know what is best."

"Really, my love, I think Calista is right," said Mr. Fabian. "I think there is no real danger. These wretches are already on their way to Cohansey jail under a very sufficient guard, and Mr. Davis and his son have volunteered to remain in the house all night. As Calista says, it is very desirable she should be with her aunt when she recovers her senses, both from motives of affection and because the poor lady may be able to give us important information."

"I think you said you had recovered all the property," said Mrs. Fabian.

"All that is recoverable; that is, all the silver and such like. A great deal has been destroyed in mere wantonness. And as for the wines, real Burgundy and the most valuable Madeira wasted like water." And Mr. Fabian shut his eyes and groaned. "They must have been tipsy when they planned their flight, or they would have been more clever about it. The old woman, who seemed to feel some gratitude to Tom Edgar for rescuing her from a terrible death in the bog, said they tried to open the bricked up cellar, but every time they did, they heard the old gentleman firing pistols at them inside."

"Lawful Suz!" said Sally. "What do you s'pose it was?"

"No doubt the bursting of champagne and cider bottles disturbed by the concussion. I think, my love, we had better go back and send Calista some comforts and necessaries in the way of provisions and the like. One or both of us can come out in the morning."

Mrs. Fabian bade Calista farewell with many embraces. In about two hours the horses came back with a load of bedding, provisions, and the like, and also with Chloe, who, on hearing of the catastrophe, had at once and adroitly inserted Jubalina in her place at Miss McPherson's, and came out to help take care of her old and her young miss.

Calista's watch was destined to last more than one or two days. Miss Priscilla remained in about the same state, eating and drinking what was given her, but, as it seemed, almost without consciousness. Mrs. Fabian had fitted up a comfortable room for Calista, and Miss Betsy would not allow her to sit up at night; but by day she only left the sick room for her meals and the open air exercise her friends insisted on.

One afternoon she was sitting alone with her aunt, Miss Betsy having gone to lie down. It was one of those perfect days which never come except late in the autumn, and both windows were open, though a little fire was burning on the hearth. Calista sat by the open window musing over all the changes that had taken place in a year. She almost felt inclined to doubt her own identity. Chloe had just been up to ask what Miss Calista would have for supper; and as Miss Calista, as usual, had no opinion of her own, she had suggested hot cream biscuit and fried oysters.

"Just to think,—" said Calista to herself, as she leaned out of the window to watch a flight of birds making for the reed-beds on the river—"just to think of Chloe's asking 'me' what I would like for supper! I, who used to be snapped at and sent away from the table for asking for more butter. To think how many times I have gone to bed hungry in this very house! I wonder if it is all a dream, like the dreams of pudding and roast meat I used to have in those days."

A slight movement at the bed made her look round. Miss Priscilla was regarding her with a look of intelligence and full of wonder. Calista felt the need of perfect calmness, but her heart beat fast as she bent over her aunt.

"Calista! It is Calista, isn't it?"

"Yes, Aunt Priscy. Are you better? Do you want anything?"

She waited in a kind of awe for her aunt's first words, anti when they came, she almost laughed aloud in the sudden revulsion of feeling.

"Calista, who is frying oysters?"

"Chloe, aunt. Mrs. Fabian sent some."

"Chloe!" in a tone of surprise. Then, as memory came slowly back, "But how did you come here?"

"I came to take care of you, Aunt Priscy."

"But you must not stay!" said Miss Priscilla, in a low tone of abject terror. "They will come back and kill you, and give me more of that dreadful medicine. Oh, Calista, I haven't been good to you, but can't you get me away from them? Can't you?"

"You need have no more fear of those wretches, Aunt Priscy," said Calista, trembling between fear and excitement. "They are all safe in Cohansey jail."

"All! What, Jael too?"

"Yes, all; and you have no more to fear from them. Aunt Betsy and myself are taking care of you; and Chloe has come back to do the work."

"But how was it? And, where am I?" asked Miss Priscy, bewildered. "This is not my room; this is Druey's!"

"We moved you in here to have your room and bed cleaned, Aunt Priscy. Don't you like it?"

"Yes, it is all very nice; and you are a good girl to come back—a very good girl. You won't leave me, will you?"

"No, indeed, aunt," said Calista, trying to steady her voice. "You know I would not have gone if I could have helped it."

"I know! But my mind is confused," said the poor lady. "Are you sure those people are gone?"

"Quite sure, aunt. Did they use you badly?"

"They beat me and starved me to make me tell where my father's money was hid, and when I said I didn't know, they gave me horrible stuff. It made me crazy."

"But you are better now," said Calista.

"Yes; I am not crazy now. Calista, I want to see Mr. Settson. Send for him."

"Yes, we'll send for him right away," said Miss Betsy, who had entered the room unperceived; "but thee mustn't talk any more now. Calista, go to thy supper, and tell John Davis to go for Mr. Settson—